


Executioner

by KnifingGale



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Execution, Executioner - Freeform, F/F, Reader-Insert, Slow Burn-ish, Templar Executioner!Female Reader, be warned, descriptions of execution
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2018-07-01
Packaged: 2019-04-08 18:01:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14110965
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KnifingGale/pseuds/KnifingGale
Summary: Executioner (n.)An official who carries out a sentence of death on a legally condemned person.





	1. Chapter 1

Humans tended to avoid those different from them.

It was this particular thought that came to you as you walked past the crowd amassing at the entrance of the courtyard. Despite the excitement and morbid curiosity of what was to come, they had already parted a way for you to pass through. The sword at your hip weighed a heavy reminder for everyone.

After all, it flagged just who you were.

“Early as usual,” One prison guard-Gerald, if you recalled correctly-remarked with a somewhat jovial grin as he opened the gate. The metal barrier gave a sharp noise in protest of the sudden movement. You gave a brief nod to him before walking past. There was no time for idle discussion when your business was yet to be conducted.

Dirt crunched and sullied your shoes when your steps hastened in mind of the time, “That damn Sanson.” you murmured to yourself before sighing. Professionalism was what you needed, not getting angered by that  _arrogant traditionalist_  of an executioner.

“Greetings, Executioner.” You once again nodded to the two men that had greeted you and stood guard alongside the kneeling prisoners. The gallows loomed over the three doomed men like that of a Guillotine- _which Sanson ranted all too much about_.

“Last meals have been offered?” You asked softly, mindful of the prisoners’ ears. If they struggled too much on the scaffold, it would make your business all the harder and shape the outcome of events even more unpleasant for the three.

“Yes, sir.” Sir. It wasn’t something you quite minded, as you wanted to avoid the publicity of being a female executioner. The last one had been an Irishwoman who had become infamous with her occupation and conduct. No, keeping out of the public eye allowed you to go about other facets of your business and workings in life.

“And the pastor came by?” It would be a blessing to both yourself and the prisoners for them to have the peace of mind before going up the gibbet.

“Yes.” You bit back a sigh at the rather irritable tone that the guard adopted after you had asked. They really had no appreciation for how vital doing the two things were. It seemed that only a fellow practitioner of your craft would understand your view and actions in preparing for the execution.

It was times like this that made you appreciate Sanson of all people.

“Escort the prisoners, then,” You ordered before adding, “Gently,” in reminder, of course. Guards tended to get all too rough with the prisoners and get them all worked up right before the drop was to be commenced.

“Yes, sir.” The escort nodded before walking towards the knelt prisoners and grasped one by the arm none too roughly. Pleased, you took brisk steps to the wooden stairs and moved to the center of the platform.

The scaffolds weren’t all that high, in comparison to the one in London’s squares before the rather restrictive laws were passed. However, you could still see buildings peeking above the obstruction the prison walls provided.

_Not deplorable for the last sight_ , you thought idly as the guards were leisurely in escorting the prisoners up. Finally, they ascended to the platform as the prisoners’ breathing grew labored.

_Fear_ , it was. 

Keeping a stoic expression, you motioned with a gesture to the respective places for the prisoners to be positioned. Huffing, one of the guards shoved the prisoner to the site, almost making him lose his balance. The hand resting on your sword tightened its grip on the rather ceremonial weapon when the guard only sighed and walked back down the stairs.

You would have a word with him later. But, right now, you needed to make sure that the execution went smoothly. Besides, he could stand guard at the entrance as another body there wouldn’t hurt.

Silently, you grasped the first prisoner’s shoulders and gently guided him back with an increased pressure when he refused to budge. The noose hanging limply at the top had already been prepared the night beforehand with the proper measures to ensure a clean, swift drop. With one hand you gripped the noose and brought it down around the man’s neck. Then, you tightened the loop until it just fitted right.

Even in the private setting of the prison, you would not fail your duty as an executioner-

You paused suddenly, detecting the subtle sound of blades withdrawing from flesh and the gurgling of a slit throat. One thought came to you that nearly made your blood run cold.

_Assassin_.

Two smooth vessels sailed through the air and hit the scaffold with impeccable aim. As soon as the metallic spheres hit the deck, smoke streamed from them, and you moved immediately to secure the prisoner.

A sound of a blade unsheathing had you turning just in time to bring the cumbersome and very much impractical executioner sword to block a blow.  _Cane sword_ , you noted. Those troublesome things had always been a problem when it came to vengeful and desperate relatives in public executions.

The Assassin- _female from what you could tell_ -glowered from her hood and withdrew her weapon only to land a harsh blow against your shoulder with the butt of the cane. You had twisted just in time to avoid the hit to the face, but the maneuver had thrown you off balance for only a second.

And it was a second that she took clear advantage of.

With those infamous  _hidden blades_ , the Assassin lunged at you with blades extended. You didn’t dare to close your eyes, knowing full well of how an executioner should fall-

But the blades never imbedded themselves into your flesh. Instead, the hooded figure stood frozen and stared up at you with wide, clear blue eyes. Stuttering, the warm feeling hit you for the briefest of a moment before you stumbled back. The executioner sword weighed in your hand as you held it defensively in front of you.

“You,” she said slowly, walking towards you for several steps before stopping. That feeling once again arose in your chest at the sound of her voice.

Awe and fear, it must be. After all, you had never seen an Assassin this close before much less fought against one.

It was several heartbeats later did her eyes slowly slid to focus on your sword. The blunt end was facing the sky as you held the hilt tightly with both hands.

It was almost like something slid into place at that very moment with dead silence hanging in the air. The Assassin closed her eyes and opened with them with a clear focus on those blue orbs.

You stiffened in expectation for what was to come. However, she only let out a sigh and turned on her feet. A smoke bomb exploded beneath her feet and obscured her dark figure in the gray gas enveloping the courtyard.

By the time the gas barely lingered in the air, the Assassin was missing.

And so was the prisoner, you berated yourself. Sanson may quite literally have your head for this. Your eyes quickly scanned your surroundings and noticed the footprints in the dirt leading to the wall.

“Does everybody know how to climb over walls?” You sighed. It was evident that the prisoner would be long gone if he had even the slightest of sense in his head.

No matter how you hated doing so, you needed to call in the Blighters.

There was also the none too little matter of an Assassin intervening in the execution. The issue could be taken up all the way to the Grandmaster, and that was leagues worse than Sanson.

You reigned back laughter from the situation itself. If Sanson didn’t kill you first, then Starrick sure as hell might do so.

* * *

Well, you were right about one thing.

Sanson was practically  _drunk_  with anger.

“One simple execution,” he hissed at you like an annoyed cat, “And you botched even that.”

“One time.” You said softly. Perhaps, if you just kept your head low, it would all come to pass-

“One stroke,” Sanson replied in turn with a rather haughty turn in his voice. You refrained from sighing in exasperation at his arrogance. Of course, he just had to keep on referencing that one time he beheaded two men with one stroke of his executioner sword.

“If the Blighters cannot find the man, I will do so myself.” You gritted out only for the man to laugh mockingly.

“Oh, and I suppose the incident should just be brushed under the rug, then?” He asked sardonically with fingers tapping against the wooden surface of his desk. The consistent motions caused ripples to appear in the tea cup’s brown liquid.

“Unless you want to eat the Grandmaster’s bullet, then, yes.” The slight fear that flittered across his eyes told you enough. Your bluff had worked. Although, it wasn’t so much as a bluff than a reminder of how mutual destruction would occur.

“Very well,” Sanson relented with a scowl marring his face, “Still, fumbles require punishment.”

You watched wordlessly as he leisurely got up from his desk, pushing back his chair. Sighing, he took a sip of his tea before smirking. Shoes brushed against the fur rug until they stopped right at you.

“We’ll start with this, of course.”

You let out a light gasp of surprise when warm liquid soaked your hair and trickled down your cheeks.

Glaring balefully, you looked up to see him smirking above you with the teacup still letting droplets fall onto you.

You had a few choice words for him, at the moment.

…And one particularly satisfying scenario involving him and your execution sword playing in your head. 


	2. Chapter 2

Nurse duty.

The frog-because he acted more like a Frenchman than a Brit and was always boasting of his lineage from those Sansons- had sidelined you to being a nurse for the bruised and battered Blighters that revolved in and out of the spare room you were granted as a workspace.

_Utterly delightful_ , you thought to yourself as you wrapped gauze around one of the Blighter’s wounds. As an executioner, you naturally had lengthy and detailed knowledge of human anatomy. Certain aspects of medicine were easier to learn with said knowledge.

You had learned the bare basics as an apprentice of a senior executioner in the Order before spending a summer with the local doctor. Apparently, the senior executioner had wanted you to become desensitized to gruesome sights that would come with execution. One of the ways he did so was through making you sit through and even assist in amputations during that one summer.

The other apprentice next to you had gagged and teared up in the eyes at the very sight. It was a considerably good way to weed out those who couldn’t stand doing execution.

As the Blighter gingerly touched the bandaged injury and groaned, another sat beside you on the cot. You briefly noted the bone protruding from his leg. A broken  _fibula_ , it was. And painful from the sight of it. Silently, you grasped the man’s leg right below the knee and used one hand to grab onto the side the bone had broken the skin through. It had taken a more extended amount of time. You wanted to make sure that the bone was set right so that it could be splinted.

The gradual pull that increased over time with each passing minute eventually made for a harsh pull that caused the bone snap into place with a popping sound.

A crack was heard when a meaty fist slammed into the wall beside you. The slight motion of moving your head to the right was the only thing that saved you from getting hit.

You barely registered the other nurse calling out that she’ll do the splinting of the Blighter’s leg.

Lucky was one word for it. You would rather not get hit again after that particularly nasty hit by the cane sword. A hand came to rub your sore shoulder in a reminder of the incident. Speaking of the event, you still had yet to see the Assassin or hear any news of the escaped prisoner.

“That seems to be the last of them, nurse,” Your fellow nurse had said with glee to which you returned the same sentiment. After all, Blighters were by far the worst to treat.

“For now,” you sighed out. There was still until midnight that you would be off from nurse duty and taking back the executioner sword. Until then, you could always just lay low until it was time for your shift.

“Get a drink at the pub, love.” The nurse said sympathetically, “You sure deserve it.”

“Thank you,” you replied in kind as you moved to get your coat. The black fabric was obscuring your frame in a swath of dark cloth. The evening tended to get the slightest bit cold, and you wouldn’t chance to get sick, especially in your situation.

Especially since Sanson would only give you a day off if you were on your deathbed.

* * *

There was just  _something_  about carrying a sword in broad daylight that made even the bravest of thieves and thugs stray away from you.

Despite the blunted tip and sheer cumbersomeness of the ceremonial weapon, it had served an additional purpose in its deterrence of those unwanted.

However, you didn’t have that same layer of protection as you did before.

This was the thought that briefly came to mind as a hand reached out from the alley and pulled on your arm. Caught off guard, you stumbled sideways into the alleyway before finally regaining your balance.

“Assassin,” You acknowledged with the same feeling rolling and stirring in your chest agitatedly.

“Executioner,” The Assassin greeted in kind with a subtle smirk from beneath her hood. The shadows only served to obscure her features even more so.

_Work in the darkness indeed_ , you thought. While you may at times get distracted, you were by no means oblivious to your surroundings. The fact that she was able to catch you off guard like that told you enough about her expertise in stealth.

“Are you here to kill me?” You asked quietly, mindful of prying ears. You could be executed- _oh the irony in that_ \- for consorting with an Assassin or be brought to Starrick for even being with her. There was also the infamous twin brother- _Jacob Frye_ , if you heard about him correctly-that would be none too pleased if his sister got in trouble.

“No,” She answered tersely before adding, “I’m in need of your assistance.”

Puzzled at why she would even think to ask a Templar for help, you couldn’t help but ask, “Why?”

“A disgraced Templar is trying to escape execution by calling in several connections,” Her eyes slid to yours with an even look in them, “I would require you to make sure he doesn’t do so.”

“And this would benefit the Templars…” you trailed off in question.

“Because he was a thorn in the side for you Templars. If I recall correctly, he angered Starrick quite a few times.”

_She has no idea_ , you thought. You knew precisely which disgraced Templar she was referring to. The man got Starrick drunk more times than Sanson ever bemoaned about French wine, “Why can’t you take care of him yourself?”

“Asking quite a few questions, are you?” Knowing full well that you wouldn’t let the question be dropped, she answered, “Getting involved in executions could prove to be messy. I don’t care to emulate my brother’s style.”

“I can see why,” You remarked. The rumors and whispers on the street about the infamous Jacob Frye and his… daring actions had rung loud and clear with you, “What exactly do you require of me?” You asked before you started regretting this.

You could have sworn there was the briefest of smiles on her face, “Connections. Surely, an executioner such as yourself knows other fellow practitioners of your craft around London.”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then, reach out. Find out where the man’s located-”

“One condition,” you interrupted, “I will be the one to kill him.”

The Assassin paused for a moment, taking the time to look into you. Then, she nodded with a slight incline of her head.

“Then, we have an arrangement.”

“White Hart pub at four tomorrow, then?”

“Sure,” you agreed. Although, you were still wondering how a meeting that nearly resulted in you getting killed by the very woman in front of you had turned into a business meeting the next time the two of you met.

Mindful of this, you pondered on what to do. Hesitantly, you extended out a hand.

She took your hand with a firm, trained gloved one of her own and shook it once, “Pleasure doing business with you then, love.”


	3. Chapter 3

You should have expected that Sanson would find another reason to get drunk because of you. And, of course, you should have known that he would have suspended you from the duties of an executioner as a result.

If you ever happened to be given the opportunity, you would find the frog’s hidden stash and get rid of it. Sanson spiking his tea did not bode well for you and your future work as an executioner.

“Back again, lass?” The amused nurse- _Ella_ , you had heard from a cussing Blighter- inquired with an expecting smile as you walked through the door. The rather dull, brown walls of the room made the woman stand out in contrast with her stark, white dress.

“Aye,” you sighed out, “Sanson got drunk again.” Ella shook her head in exasperation with a sympathetic look directed at you.

“I swear that fool is just making things harder for himself.”  _And myself,_  you added silently to the woman’s words.

“Well, you are here now, and I could use a hand at the clinic,” The nurse smiled lightly, “How about you handle the first patient that comes through the door?”

You nodded with a murmured ‘yes’ in response. At least, this would give you something to do with your hands. Your train of thought was soon broken by the sound of the door slamming open, followed by the subtle noise of a body being dragged against the floor.

You turned to face the door only to be greeted with the sight of a tortured Rook-from the looks of it- who was escorted by two hulking Blighters. Paying no mind to the way they towered over you, you said, “I take it that you gentlemen would like me to fix him up, yes?”

The Blighter to your left grunted in agreement, and motioned for his partner to throw the wounded Rook onto one of the empty cots nearby, “He better not escape,” his partner harshly said with an impatient scowl marring his face.

The Rook let out an agonizing scream when he was slammed into the mattress.  _Broken bone perhaps_ , you thought. But it may just as well be something more minor such as bruised ribs.

In response to the Blighter’s none too subtle threat, you only nodded amicably with a faux smile plastered across your face. By the  _Guillotine_ , you truly disliked the Blighters, even more so than the ignorant guards at the prison.

Grabbing a fresh roll of gauze and a-hopefully-sterile cloth to act as a replacement for the filthy gag stuffed into the gang member’s mouth, you walked over to the bedside.

Glaring balefully at you with narrowed, pain-filled eyes, the Rook groaned in agony as he tried to shift away from you.

“You won’t get far with wounds like that, love.” You pointed out idly as you gently grasped the gang member’s shoulders to steady him. Your hands then moved to remove the dirty rag and pulled it above his head.

“This,” you held the sterile, white cloth in one hand, “will make things easier for the both of us,” you added, seeing the wary look in the Rook’s dark eyes. The apparent shift of panic to caution and finally to resignation signaled that you could now begin.

Acting quickly, you smoothly pulled the gag over the man’s head and then placed the band in his mouth. The lack of protest from the Rook prompted you to then lightly press an examining hand against the tender side of his body.

The man screamed into his gag, and you nodded to yourself. It was either broken or bruised ribs.

A matter like this was out of your hands. All you could do to help was perhaps sneak him a vial of  _Laudanum_  if you were feeling particularly sympathetic.

Memories of the brief encounter with Evie Frye-there was only one woman in London with her skills and appearance, after all- and the remembrance that she was affiliated with the Rooks. A sinking feeling ate at your chest achingly at the idea, for an unknown reason.

An idea sprang from the odd train of thoughts you were having. It was an idiotic idea, but one that had some bearings of fruit to it nonetheless.

One of them being that a particular gang leader and brother of your ‘business acquaintance’ wouldn’t decide to hunt you down out of revenge nor murder you for associating yourself with his sister.

 _Yes_ , you thought to yourself, nodding. If you had just the right timing-like in an execution-then, you would be able to avoid eating Starrick’s bullet as well as catching a hidden blade to the throat.

* * *

Blighters tended not to be the brightest of the bunch if one were to generalize. It wasn’t much on the fault of the individuals as it was to the control the gang leaders had over them. It left a rather strong dependence on leadership in the Blighters.

With the glaring presence of your executioner sword- which you managed to bribe a maid to smuggle to you- and the armband emblazoned with the Templar cross, the two blighters that had come across you and your oddly dressed and profusely beaten ‘companion’ had only given a passing glance before carrying on.

It was only several streets later did you finally near the territory of the Rooks. The presence of Blighters grew thicker as the local gang leader had become ever so more territorial of what they held.

“Don’t say a word,” you warned the man next to you. What you both did in the next moments would define both of your futures. Although, it would be his more so affected perhaps.

As if expecting the two of you, another pair of Blighters made their way towards you with either a scowl or leer on their faces. At least, it was until they caught sight of your armband and the unusually large sword resting on your hip.

“Executioner?” One questioned with curious eyes and a raised eyebrow. You nodded curtly, adopting a stoic demeanor befitting that of an executioner.

“Interesting,” the other piped in with a smirk and nostalgic eyes, “I remember the time when your kind went around doing those public executions. Quite a sight, they were.”

“Indeed,” you said before shifting the sword at your side. Masking the action as only securing the weapon more so, it prompted the Blighters to realize that you had business to attend to.

“Best of luck in your business, lass.”

“Thank you,” you answered back politely. Although, a part of you was bewildered by the rather polite behavior of this particular pair of Blighters. The prison guards you had worked with were by far worse than these two.

You let out a breath of relief when the two were at a safe distance away from you. The Rook chuckled to himself almost hysterically before stifling it behind his green sleeve.

His eyes lit up when the two of you stopped just before the bridge directly leading into the home territory of the  _Rooks_.

“Would you care to deliver a message for me?” The man no longer has wary, nodded with only the slightest of hesitation.  _Good_ , you thought. It appeared that benevolent deeds were rewarded.

More so than this, hopefully.

* * *

Unlike the last time you tried to visit the pub only to be interrupted, you managed to make it to the White Hart pub with only several questionable looks shot your way, most likely due to your sword.

“I heard what you did with the lost Rook,” A familiar voice suddenly said, pleased apparently from the rather relaxed tone she had taken, “You have my gratitude,” Evie added with another brief smile.

“It truly was no trouble,” you soon averted your eyes to the tankard in hand as this wasn’t quite what you planned. This was a business meeting, yes. But, the relaxed nature of it all was unexpected.

 _But not entirely unwelcome_ , you added silently. Your eyes looked back to see Evie staring back at you.

“You would have my brother’s as well if he weren’t so bullheaded,” Evie sighed in apparent exasperation. The ‘thank you’ she gave to the barmaid as she was handed the drink seemed to be very much sincere.

“I can understand the feeling,” you admitted, thinking back to a certain and often drunk frog. A pang of sympathy was felt towards Evie as she had to go through that on a daily basis. With Sanson, you could usually just lay low at several prisons on London’s outskirts.

“I-”

“Miss Frye,” a familiar voice interrupted, “Jacob-”

“What did  _brother dearest_  do now?” Evie questioned rather irritably with an expecting look directed at the poor gang member you had saved earlier. A wordless apology was shot at you quickly before the Rook finally gathered his wits to answer.

The man gave you a wary glance, and you assumed it was sensitive information. Sensing that you were intruding perhaps, you coughed to yourself and began to stand up. You fished out the pouch you reserved for buying drinks and began to set it out on the table only for Evie to interrupt.

“Please let me,” Evie said kindly. The feeling in your chest was simply shock, of course. It just felt warm in a peculiar sense, “Take it as a token of my appreciation.”

“Thank you, Miss Frye,” You thanked in turn with a genuine smile on your face despite the confusion and warm feeling you felt from her behavior, “I’m afraid that I must take my leave now.”

Evie nodded to you before she turned to face the rather irritated Rook who stood by with a rather stoic demeanor.

As you walked out of the pub with brisk steps, a hand couldn’t help but grasp at the area directly above your heart. Did Sanson or one of the gang leaders try to poison or drug you again?

You couldn’t understand just _why_  you felt like this, otherwise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are very much appreciated, if it isn't too much trouble. I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

The all too short of a walk to Sanson’s study had long since become a dreaded occurrence in your life. The glowering faces of various past executioners, affiliated with the Order or not, seemed to bear down on you in disapproval.

You briefly made a note in your head to hire an interior decorator or estate manager for Sanson. He truly was perpetuating the idea that executioners were merely waiting around in the dark, sullen places all day long until executions happened.

“You called-” The words soon died in your throat at the sight in front of you as your eyes widened in shock, “-me.” you finished rather weakly.

What you saw was something out of the executions of the old with gruesome and dirty work. Sloppy was one word for what you saw.

“Ah,” A feminine voice said elatedly with glee seeping into her voice, “I was hoping you would be in time to see my finished work.”

“Eva,” you breathed out in surprise. It had been years since you had last seen her in a professional setting. The last you saw of her was an execution you performed on her behalf-and entertainment- at the order of Sanson.

“What do you say, love? Do I get a passing mark from my executioner?” Blonde hair swayed to the side as she tilted her head to the side in question. You coughed lightly and tried to think of an appropriate answer.

This was a woman was the Spymaster of the Order and served directly under Starrick, after all.

“The interrogation seemed to be successful and well executed,” You noted with detached professionalism. The corpse had careful and precise lacerations and cuts in the body’s most sensitive regions, “However, the execution was not clean.”

Eva sighed with rather mocking disappointment in her tone, “Well, I can’t please everyone, lass.”

“Indeed,” you answered agreeably. Your eyes slid to the idle figure of Sanson still sitting nonchalantly at his desk. You shot a hopefully subtle look at him only for the executioner to merely turn his head to the side and smirk.

You forced down the urge to glare at him. After taking away your sword and suspending you from executioner’s duties, he had now sent the Order’s Spymaster.

Your breath hitched at the sudden realization you were faced with.  _Spymaster_ , you thought in trepidation. Did Sanson know about your association with Evie?

Then again, Sanson would have already beheaded you if even the slightest evidence had come up about your association with Evie. Your shoulders slumped visibly with relief as you relaxed.

“-And he had to make three hacks at the neck!” Eva exclaimed as you barely caught the end of her words, “And to think the  _frog_  here thinks that you were the one to botch the most executions.”

You couldn’t help the laughter that escaped your lips at Eva addressing Sanson as a ‘ _frog_.’ You almost forgot her habit-which she had picked up from you apparently- of teasing him. It was one of your favorite things about her in the short time you had known her in the past.  

“Say,” she began with a sly smile creeping onto her face, “Would you mind if you tutored this novice on execution?”

“This executioner wouldn’t mind,” You replied with a smile, mimicking her own words with the referencing of yourself in third person. As long as there wasn’t an ulterior motive to her actions, you could trust her as a fellow Templar.

“Simply delightful.”

 _Hopefully_ , you added silently to your train of thought.

* * *

Boots clacked and stepped on the granite as you walked through London’s streets. The bustle of citizens going about failed to deter not hinder you from moving as they parted minusculely away from your presence near them.

But you paid no mind to this as your pace was brisk and quick in your haste to make it to the meeting. You were supposed to meet with Evie in only several minutes, and the possibility of yourself being late nagged at you insistently.

Noticing the defining landmark of the area, you turned a sharp right around the corner and went through the dark alley. Stopping to scan your surroundings, you noticed the conveniently placed ladder scaling up the wall that was straight in front of you.

By the time you carefully climbed up the ladder- _heights weren’ something you were exactly comfortable with_ -in a careful manner, you were more than several minutes late at best. Already wincing inside at the probable backlash you would receive from Evie, you closed your eyes and sighed.

When you opened them and looked to your left, you stumbled back in both shock and the slightest bit of fear. The missing, substantial presence of your sword had you feeling almost naked and vulnerable. Unbefitting of an executioner, of course.

Pathetic was what your teacher would have called you at the moment. Wise would be the next word he would use.

“Hello, love.” The figure stepped forward across the rooftop and introduced himself with a wolfish grin and curious eyes, “Evie is a bit… ah preoccupied at the moment. I’ll be taking care of you for this little venture of ours.”

“May I ask who exactly you are?” you inquired, already having the sneaking suspicion of his identity. The resemblance between the hooded man and Evie was noticeable. But, the man could very well be this ‘George Westhouse’ you’ve heard about, for better or worse.

“Oh, where are my manners.” He said lightly with a grin, and not the slightest apology in his words, “The name’s Jacob Frye.”

“I suppose that I should thank you for saving a Rook of mine,” Jacob Frye drawled out with his eyes almost scrutinizing. This was the leader of one of the most reputable gangs in London, of course, “He and my sister did speak rather highly of you, a Templar, after all.”

“Evie said that?” The words escaped your lips in surprise before you could stop them. Like a cat who got the cream, Jacob smiled in satisfaction.

“Yes, she did.” You shifted under the gaze of the gang leader. If Evie had lost all sense of manners and subtlety, she would have been much like her twin. Siblings have much in common, you thought with no surprise.

Executing siblings at one public event had told you that much. Particularly when one was to be executed, and the other helped their twin escape.

Of course, they were beheaded by a rather angered Sanson.

“I see,” you said carefully.

“As do I,” Jacob remarked with no small hint of smugness in his voice. You nearly twitched at the resemblance between him and Sanson, at that very moment. Now, you _really_ could understand what Evie went through with her twin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry for the late update. I had to rest for a bit as I might be travelling soon for a family emergency. Also, there was the fact that I was getting rather exhausted. I added a new character to this chapter, Eva (the name is very much intentional, by the way). As always, comments are welcome and highly appreciated. Anyway, thanks for your patience and reading!


	5. Chapter 5

A wise executioner once told you that you could tell a man’s character-not only his strength- by his neck. After all, the one move was concentrated at the neck, whether it be as a stroke of the sword or jerk by the rope.

Jacob Frye was a dangerous man.

If Evie was all grace and deliberation, Jacob was brute-force personified.

“Say,” Jacob Frye began, voice light and jovial in all the wrong ways, “How did you meet my dear sister?”

The hairs at the back of your neck prickled as you tensed. How exactly were you supposed to explain the circumstances of the meeting between Evie and yourself, “We met at an execution.”

What was the saying? Oh, yes. Honesty was the best policy.

You would beg to differ if Jacob Frye decided to slit your throat.

“Oh?”

“Yes,” you answered tersely.

“Didn’t ever think my oh so good sister would get involved with a Templar of all people,” he commented before adding, “Not with all those rules of hers.”

Feeling the conversation was getting rather impolitely one-sided, you tried to add your part to the ‘conversation.’

“I am unaware of Miss Frye’s thoughts and reasoning behind sparing me,” you admitted, “However, I do believe we have business to attend to, at the moment.”

“Nothing wrong with having a little friendly chat.” The top hat the gang leader wore shadowed his eyes as he accentuated the words.

“There is when it obstructs business.”

Jacob Frye smiled, slow and lowly with lips spreading out into a grin. The sheer smugness radiating off the man almost made you wish for Sanson.

Almost.

“I can see why she favors you,” Jacob admitted readily as he walked closer to you on the rooftop. Dark coat brushing against the fabric of his pants. No small part of you prickled at the threatening encroachment of the gang leader.

You put criminals like him to death.

 _And like her_ , you reminded yourself. Strangely enough, the thought came off as peculiar.

Unnatural in a sense.

Yes, Evie Frye was a criminal, as she violated the laws of not only London but the Order as well. You very well may have to put her to death one day.

The thought of doing such a thing brought a sense of disappointment. Was it the wasted possibilities in that scenario? And of what?

Those questions were ones you, an Executioner of the British Rite, could not hope to answer.

“Think nothing of it,” you murmured to yourself, shaking your head. There was no use in pondering such things.

You abruptly choked back a startled noise starting in the back of your throat as a hand suddenly clapped your shoulder. _A friendly gesture_ , you reminded. The man could certainly not ram one of his hidden blades into the unprotected skin of your throat.

Years of dealing with the crowds of angered and passionate citizens of London had contributed to the self-control you exhibited at that very moment. Rolling waves of instinctual panic, as well as irritation of all things, was suppressed shortly as you adjusted to the hand pressed against your shoulder.

The hand laying tight at your waist twitched, instinctually reaching for your sword. Perhaps, it would have merit with the firearm secured at your waist if not for how you quickly pulled your hand back.

You couldn’t ever hope to match up to an Assassin in a fight, much less at this close of a range. Besides, your firearm training consisted of _point, shoot, and oh ‘don’t be a bloody idiot.’_

“Relax, lass,” he whispered into your ears, hot breathing brushing against your ears. You vaguely registered hotness filling your face, waves of heat radiating off, “I’m not going to kill you yet.”

 _Bloody hell_ , you thought. Jacob Frye not only disrespected you like this but was delaying the proceedings of business.

The desire to beat him with your sword grew with every passing moment.

Alas, one could not always fulfill their desires.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everybody! I’m really sorry for the very late update. First, there was two family emergencies on both sides of my family as my grandfather was in a hospice and my uncle suddenly passed away. Things just went downhill from there until I finally returned home and began to feel better. But, I feel a lot better now and feel comfortable writing. Anyways, the chapter is a bit short. But I will be updating much more frequently. I hope my writing isn’t too rusty in this. Also, I would just like to thank all those who commented on my story. It really did help me continue writing this story. Well, thank you so much for your patience as well reading this chapter!


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